Attention every corporate body who thinks the general public cares that it’s your ‘birthday’:
Wow! 75 years of Company XYZ pumping out ear-raping advertisements! 50 years of government bailouts for No-Frills Faceless Bank!
Seriously: do you, the marketing parasites of these commercial leviathins, truly believe we give a fuck that the company has been around for [insert random number] years? And that it’s somehow cause for public ceremony?
Your company probably also forces employees to gather around a soggy sponge cake at 16:45 on a Friday-fucking-afternoon and sing the most depressing version of “Happy Birthday, dear CEO Paddington Jerkoff” ever mumbled. And you wonder why we lack the requisite enthusiasm.
The pure revulsion such human lint balls have for the consumer couldn’t be clearer. I submit the following dramatised dialogue from a fictional ‘meeting’:
Advertising toad 1: “Oh, I know – let’s earn our astronomical salaries by vomiting on the common dross and then telling them that they love it!”
Advertising toad 2: “These arseholes will believe anything!”
Sure, festoon your retail outlets with pointless flounce; trumpet ‘Happy Birthday’ from every media orifice in the country; stuff your bird cage liners in our mail boxes. However, I politely ask that, unless you can provide a birth certificate or, better, the preserved remains of an umbilical cord, plus childhood photos of you holding a cute puppy and the name of that nice doctor who forcepted you into this Stygian existence, then please don’t expect us to get excited with you. You were not born!
What’s that? It’s YOUR birthday, yet WE get the gifts? Oh, how that 10% off all batteries makes the hairs on my scrotum stiff with jubilation!
Shitty birthday to you and I hope your shareholders all get cramps.